don't let the darkness cloud my love for you
by captainkillianhjones
Summary: Where Killian makes yet another sacrifice for Emma, because I honestly don't believe Killian wouldn't have tried harder


She doesn't mean for the words to come out like this – back in the loft, she'd thought, knew that they'd have more time, that she could wait before saying it, but time is limited and only forces unknown know what could possibly happen next.

"I love you," she says, her voice barely wavering and in the heat of the moment, it's a feat - and right now, she'll take anything she gets.

Not waiting for his reply, (it'll be easier like this), she moves to push him away towards anywhere as long as he's safe, enacting the final sacrifice the Savior must make for everyone else's happy endings. But she feels a shift, a rotation in the earth and when she pries her eyes open, it isn't safety where she sees Killian at – the darkness instead being the one wrapping its dirty arms around him, the inky black whirls, circling, surrounding and –

It's her impulses that make her move, barely thinking before raising her clutched hand to the force, ready to be taken in, ready for whatever comes next, ready for –

It doesn't come.

Sudden realisation hits her in a rush of cold, evening wind, the awareness attacks her swiftly, heart beating wildly when she sees the dagger no longer remains in her grasp. She can't suppress the unruly staccato she feels in her chest, for she knows what she's going to see when her eyes meet his, when her gaze trails up his arm and to his - no.

"And I you, my love," his voice is barely above a whisper, dulled by the gushing winds the evil brings with it - but she knows his lips and she knows what they say and how they move - knows that they're telling her goodbye.

She sees a blue storm brewing in his eyes, the paled navy fierce and strong against the black of his surroundings, and she knows he's telling her his words with every ounce of sincerity, that he's doing this for her, much like he does everything else.

Her attempt is far from helpful and both he and her know this, for even if her father's strong arms hadn't stopped her, the strength of the dark vortex would've thrown her back.

She yells and she pleads with words she can't quite make out, but his eyes remain trained on her and she holds his gaze as strongly, but it's all she can do without the pocketed dagger he'd taken from her.

It doesn't mean she doesn't keep trying. Forcing a burning white light from her hands, her magic singes her father and honestly, she couldn't care less. She ignores the audible protests from all four spectators, but she lunges towards him anyway.

And just like it had known she was coming, the black thickens, a tornado forming around him and she's forced back yet again, helpless as she watches the black, circling streaks engulf him until nothing.

There's a distinct clank of metal against tar, and then a rush of feet towards her, arms holding, grabbing her, asking if she's okay, but she ignores them, only using them as leverage as her knees aren't able to pull her up, the thudding in her chest loud and ringing in her ears as she shrugs her mother's hand off her shoulder. The sight of it stings her eyes - the cold metal laying lonely on the tarred road, black letters brandished upon the steel spelling out words she refuses to read, the weight of reality far too much for her to handle, and she hates him for sacrificing himself for her again.

She hates him for his chivalry, for his sheer selflessness when it comes to her - how he dismisses himself completely when she's being put in danger. She hates how she puts her first all the time, in every life, no matter her relationship with him. She hates that he's gone - that it's because of her that this burden has been thrusted upon him. She hates him, but she loves him so.

But that doesn't change the fact that Killian Jones remains engraved onto the Dark One's dagger, doesn't alter how he is the Dark One - the one thing he'd set three lifetimes on hating and plotting against.

They give her space as she moves to the dagger, neither of the four (she tries not to think spitefully how they're all paired up) moving to stop her as she picks up the God forsaken thing, the weight of the metal seeming too heavy in her hands, and before she breaks down in front of everyone, she walks away.

The steel is cold against her skin, clutching it to her body as though it were him, her feet lead her towards the docks. She should've known better than to risk it, should have just enacted the sacrifice - whatever it's to be called (curse? Is it a curse? Wouldn't that mean it could be broken?) - she shouldn't have pulled him close, shouldn't have told him what she'd felt, for who knows how painful the words would've been for him had she succeeded.

(She should've succeeded)

She can summon him, she realises - knows the power the one that carries the dagger holds, how the Dark One must cave to their every whim, but she doesn't. Not yet. Not until she's fully equipped to wrench the darkness from him.

Over the next few days, she doesn't share the enthusiasm others give when they say how they're glad she's okay, because while she may be safe, he isn't. And while they're all trying their best in finding a way to get him back, there's a part of her yelling that they're not doing enough, that there isn't a sense of urgency when it comes to him and she wants to shake each and every one of them, waking them up and forcing them to realise that he's more important than she'll ever be - that he's so much better than she'll ever be.

But maybe she's just sleep deprived, and maybe she's just a little bit petty that she had to lose the man she loves twice in a day while Gold lives his happily ever after with his love. And while she does try help, Emma can't help the coldness she sends towards Belle, for it astounds her that the woman can still stomach the man after all he's done.

It's by the fifth day that she caves - running on fumes with only a handful of hours of sleep collected over the span of days and far too much caffeine to be healthy, eyes tired, mind fatigued and heart never not aching when she finally summons him.

(Just the word tastes bitter on her tongue - summoning - as if he were a servant she could just order around and she hates the idea of it, but still -)

"I summon thee, Dark One."

A gust of cold wind fills the room, and she doesn't have to check to know it's not the sudden burst of the quarter's hatch that allows the cool air to enter. The candles she's lit goes out, but she's quick to act, using her magic to light the room up, the place she's been holed up in for the past few days brightening with it. His cabin's a mess, "I'm usually a bit tidier" echoes in her head when she sees the wooden floor littered with stacks of books, not a single one bringing her any closer to finding this Merlin, the sheets on his narrow bed rumpled and unmade, even considering the lack of sleep it provides.

(It all reminds her of him, and it hurts, but she's alone here and others don't bother her at unnecessary times and sometimes she can feel his presence, can smell his scent from his old leather coat that hangs idly on the chair in the corner, and it gives her hope that he's not gone.)

She counts the seconds until he appears, closing her eyes until she's sure he's there, and she's sure, can feel his presence when he materialises, and only then does Emma see.

His skin is pale, the dark hair littering his jaw and swooping over his forehead seeming darker, the blue of his eyes simply cold when she meets them. They're shadowed by black kohl, bringing the iciness out further, his empty stare amplified. His clothes are different, but the same - the dark colours remaining a constant, but the coat he wears isn't the one that sits on the chair - instead, its collar is more extravagant, its sleeves tighter and the body hugs him more than the leather she's used to.

She makes a move towards him, but at the tilt of his head he gives her as he observes her, she pulls back. She's aching to reach out, to touch and to hold, because Lord knows she's missed him, but she can't. Even with him here, he's not here.

At her hesitance, his grin is wide and cold and not him, forcing her to ignore the shudder she feels run down her spine.

"Killian," she finally gets out, her voice hoarse and gravelly and everything in the word screams come back.

But the benevolent smirk remains and she aches thinking of the fate she's condemned him to, making him into the one thing he hates the most after all the progress he's made on his own to get to where he was before.

Emma wonders if words of love will bring him back, allowing her of a glimpse of the man she'd fallen for, but both he and her know it's wishful thinking and it's not that easy to shoo the Dark One away.

"You called?"

His voice is hard, cold and far from the usual tender tone she's become familiar of, and it hurts everywhere when she hears the smugness in his words.

It doesn't matter though - he could spew words of poison her way, brand her with every foul name he has in his arsenal, could hurt her with everything he's got, and she still wouldn't believe it would ever make her fall out of love with him.


End file.
